Christy Petrella
Stories (5/0)
Wildflower
Wildflower, Wildflower, how misconstrued are thee. Never to be the chosen one, forever doomed to be the forgotten one. Passed by without the turn of a head, not even the blink of an eye. Opt out for flowers held in higher esteem. The quite costly array, approved by stuffy aristocrats, the arrogant elite, the contemptuous hoity-toitys, the orthodox clout chasers, with their pockets full of posy. Only held in treasure by local pollinators. For wildflowers don't abide by set out rules, nor join in the masses, unified by the majority, pulled like puppets on a string, minions, all seeking omnipotent social conformity.
By Christy Petrellaabout a year ago in Poets
What are you doing for the rest of your life?
What are you doing for the rest of your life? To be asked that very question, I only dare to dream. To find a forever prince charming, a knight in shining armour, to live a real-life fairytale? Does that even exist anymore?
By Christy Petrellaabout a year ago in Poets
Hanging by Heartstrings
Healing hands here hand-picked to help the heavy-hearted. Heartache hanging hastily, half-hardened heartstrings held hopefully. Humankind honors all healthy, happy, head-strong heroic heiresses. High-class has no hope here, holding hostage to hardworking, humble, habitually holy humanitarians.
By Christy Petrellaabout a year ago in Poets